The Masks of Venice
by Slytherinout
Summary: When poor Harry gets hired as the Malfoy's couturier, his life changes.


Chapter 1-

Harry opened his eyes, awoken by the sound of a train passing under his window. He rose from his bed, sighing and mumbling. A day like the others. A hard day of work; to eat. It wasn't his fault if he was born in misery after all. He walked to the window and opened the blinds. The street was crowded though it was early in the morning. It was a market day. He could see the richest of the poor running all over, racing to buy the best outfit for tonight, and the poorest of the poor look at their doing with their eyes wide opened. It was a Carnival night tonight, the first one in six month, the day after _Mardi Gray_. Harry sighed again and closed the window. He would like to go too, but he couldn't. He wanted to dance with the others, but he couldn't. He wanted to flirt with girls, but he couldn't. He wanted to wear one of those masks to cover his entire face, but he couldn't. He growled while putting his shoes on. He could never have fun anyway. He didn't have any money to buy a mask. He didn't have any money to buy a costume. He barely had enough money to eat. He'll pass, like he did the twenty previous years.

Harry opened the door and came out of the miserable building. Venice's streets were cold. Cold and humid on this morning of March, and the boy had no scarf to wear. He thought to himself that he was going to freeze to death. The waters were high and his feet were soaked, his legs plunged in it up to his knees. Finally, he stopped in front of a tiny shop, where dresses were placed with taste in the vitrine to attract the clients. It was dumb. Everybody knew that the rich use the Grand Canal, they didn't walk in the streets. _With the poor_ , his inner voice whispered. Harry shivered before pushing the door of the small small boutique and entered it. Seen from the vitrine, it looked dark and old, but from inside… Curtains were falling on the walls, separating one room from another, their were pink, purple, red and another million colors. Large windows were on the canal side which let the light enter the store, illuminating the white marble floor. In the back, Harry could beheld dresses, a work of pure art made by his mentor, a certain Severus Snape. Where Harry was standing, he could see a couple of wealthy families roaming through the alleys of the store. The ladies all had big dresses which where taking most of the room, while the man had tight suits that made them walk like they had a brooms stuck right up their ass. Harry chuckled at the thought. He started to make his way to the stockroom to get to work, he was learning how to saw those awesome dresses these awesomely rich people had. Made him some money. Just enough to live.

The curtain fell behind him, plunging him in the dark for a few seconds while his eyes got adapted to the very little light a minuscule candle was diffusing in the tiny room. Around him were piles of cardboard boxes and pieces of fabric flowing out from them. There was a small chair against the wall, hidden behind the boxes. The man let himself fall in it, sighing, grabbing one of the dresses. He hated his job. It was too much of a repetitive work to do, the same movement, the same fabric, the same clients. Little did he know this day will be different from the others. A few hours after he started to work, a hand with long skeleton like fingers grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up. A slow, low, sharp, raspy voice came up to his ears, making his hair on his neck rise :

"Potter. My dearest Potter…"

The boy rose his eyes to his mentor. The man was tall and thiner that a gressin. He had long greasy and slick black hair brought into a ponytail. Two tiny solid black eyes were shining with a dishonest light. He had thin, almost invisible lips which repelled Harry. The tone of his skin was yellow like an old parchment and waxy. He was dressed as if he were richer than the Doge, and damn the Doge was rich. He had a black cape embroided with silver, over a shirt as white as an elephant's ivory. Harry answered, with the most innocent voice he could :

"Yes, sir?"

" I am afraid your non existing talent has…", Harry sprung on his feet

"What? You are firing me?"

"Let me finish, Potter. I was saying that one of our customers as hired you. He wants you as his _personal couturier_ , he said. He offers a lot, so I got to the wise decision to sell you to this man. Says you have thiner finger than mine and that your creations are best" he grumbled the end of the sentence.

"Wait. You can't sell me"

"Yes I can"

"No you can't"

"Yes. I. Can" He said, every syllable clear.

"No. You. Can't" replied as sharply as he could to Snape.

"Yes I… Stop it! This will last for hours. You have no choice anyway. Two blokes are waiting for you infant of the shop, maritime side."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"Well, I guess you'll just die on your own."

Harry gulped. He had indeed no choice. Why did that person _buy him_? He was just an assistant, he knew nothing, he had no talent and he wasn't an object another could claim. At least he could maybe live better with this family of wealthy folks than what he was earning now with his mentor? Snape payed him very few, the least that he could give to Harry. The boy grabbed his old coat full of holes and put down the dress he was working on: a large ruby one which reflected silver in the daylight. A piece of art a princess coming from some country had ordered to the Great Couturier. Harry turned his back to Snape, his mood gradually growing bad. He was _sold_ , wasn't Snape rich enough? Apparently not. He walked out of the stockroom, with large strides, towards the door opening on the Canal. When he got out, he found two blokes standing in a gondola, dressed in a red uniform. Both were very short, reaching Harry's thighs, even thiner than Snape and more ugly than the man. One had large ears, and a tiny thin nose and two big protruding eyes filled with tears. The other was the total opposite. Everything was small on his face, except for his nose. Harry scowled at their sight, he did not want to live with these monsters. He tried reassuring himself thinking they were maybe nice appart from being hideous. He sat between the two creatures and the one with big eyes opened his mouth :

"Hello young sir, my name is Dobby."

"Dobby? What kind of name is that?"

"The kind of name my parents gave me, sir" replied the dwarf. "Master Malfoy is very impatient to meet you

Harry did not answer. He rather think about this new information the _thing_ just gave him. He knew who Malfoy was. Everybody knew who the Malfoy's were. They were the richest family of Venice, merchants. Actually, they came from France, but they moved for some reason Harry did not know. They were well known to be severe, and even more parsimonious than Snape when it came to money. Harry, for himself, thought they were evil. To be more accurate, his friends made him believe the family members were fiends. With a bit of hope, they won't be as mean as the gossip said. The journey was short and silent. None of the three man had opened his mouth since Dobby last spoke. The gondola stopped infant of an immense Palazzo. White, shiny, and stunning. Harry opened his mouth wide and could not help but say

"Shit. That's a nice home!"

The dwarfs grimaced at his crude language while they were docking the boat. The three man went over the side of the boat, laying down the feet on white brick. Dobby then reached for the handle and opened the door, making sign to Harry to follow him. He followed Dobby inside. The opulence of the room blinded him. Silver and Green falling everywhere and anywhere, sunlight coming inside the hallway. Harry took a step backward. _So that was being rich_ , He thought to himself. He vaguely heard the second ugly dwarf saying that he was going to warn the Master his commission has arrived and that Harry should stay right here. Harry did not answer, nor complain at the name he just had been called. He was stunned by the beauty of the hall, and it only was an entrance. Appart from the curtains, the lobby was rather empty of furniture. Anyways, he craved to visit the rest of the Palazzo. He glimpsed to the wide, shining, marble stairs and made a step towards it, rising his hand to touch the golden bannister when a slow, haughty voice came from the top:

"And where do you think you are going?"


End file.
